


Forking Asphalt and Learnt Helplessness

by Luminescence



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Angst, Experimental, F/M, Implied Amnesia, Open to Interpretation, Original Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 05:41:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4865165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luminescence/pseuds/Luminescence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't know when he stopped trying. Neither does she, but for completely different reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forking Asphalt and Learnt Helplessness

The world slowly turns the colour of sunflowers and rubber ducks and fireflies as he watches over the neighbourhood's unkempt park. His hardened expression—hours earlier likened to that of a constipated caterpillar's gracious ass by a kid—softens at the sight of a woman in the brightest coat he had ever seen, crouching down to pick up a street cat somewhere past the small universe that was the sandbox, decades ago a kingdom all of its own, now reduced to the miniature mirage of greater times. He brings a cigarette to his mouth, breathes in, exhales a puff of pure grey and nicotine. They share a moment of tranquility, the two of them. She knows he's watching, and he knows she knows he's watching, but no words are exchanged.

Silence, he considers as she approaches, can be both a blessing and a curse. He finds himself in dire need of halting his smoking ritual for the sole purpose of staring back into those brown, bottomless eyes. The young, previously-homeless feline purrs under her arm, mocking him and his uncontrollable desire to be the one she's holding. Another toxic cloud escapes his lips, this time a sigh, more than a breath. He watches her eyelashes dance as her gaze roams his eyes, his nose, his chin, his whole face. She's studying him, he knows. She's studying him, as she had done yesterday and the day before, so many evenings he's already lost count of.

"Do I know you?" she asks, and for a moment he can't help but feel his old, hibernating heart start to flutter at the prospect of a maybe. Until then, it had been no more than a curious look here and there: side glances that, over time, would turn into face-to-face stares. Coughs erupt when a new puff of smoke was beginning to form. Had she finally remembered? Surely not—he couldn't afford to lift his spirits just to have them plummet to the floor again once he did a reality check. Was fate, once again, playing with him? Was He watching from above, making fun of this mere mortal's deepest and wildest dreams? Why give him hope? Why now?

Why now, that he was getting accustomed to the idea of loneliness? Now that he had let go?

"That's quite the bold pick-up line, ma'am."

Her eyebrows furrow into a scowl. She's not angry, though. He's learnt to read her expressions as easily and naturally as he could recite prayers to a god he didn't believe in; he knows she only frowns in that fashion when deep in thought. He's tempted to add something else, say something nicer, to try and fish out some dormant memories from the depths of her beautiful mind, but she's quicker. So much quicker. Always had been. "I see..." she breathes out, and he could feel his life—his whole world—come to a painful stop. Was that hesitation he spied in her irises? "Must've confused you with somebody else. I apologise, sir. Have a good night."

She turns on her heels and starts walking away, inadvertedly taking bits of his heart with her. He's stopped smoking by now, his cigarette now barely hanging between his index and middle fingers. All too aware of what would happen even if he spoke up, even if he tried to explain the strange situation he found himself in, he watches her go. "Come midnight, she'll forget me again, and again, and again," he mutters to himself, as if his words offered any sort of comfort, before rising from the bench he had been resting on. The cigarette is dropped, stepped on, left behind. Leather Oxfords follow after the woman's wake, just before the road forks into two. The man takes the path to his left, away from her, and disappears into the mist.


End file.
